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Copyright, 1921 
By Thomas F. McCarthy 



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CONTENTS 

MISSING LINKS ___.--- 1 

OTHER THINGS— 

THE DANGER MARK .-...- 25 
IT DOESN'T PAY TO BEi TOO 

PARTICULAR .-.._. 26 

LET S GIVE IT TO THEM . - . - 27 

AUTUMN DAYS -.>..- 27 

SOMETHING'S ALWAYS MISSING - 28 

THE TEST OP CULTURE _ _ _ 29 

THE FIRST ROBIN ....-- 29 

THAT BREATH OF SPRING _ - . 29 

SPRINGING A SPRING SOMETHING - 30 

OH, SHAH _._.-.-- 31 

FRIENDS ____--.- 32 

ON ADOPTING A HOBBY _ _ . - 33 

TO MY VALENTINE _ . _ . _ 34 

IT ALL DEPENDS UPON THE WEATHER 36 

THOSE PASSING GLANCES ... 37 

THE SNOWSTORM . > > - . 38 

V/HEN THE LEAVES BEGIN TO FALL _ 39 

BACK TO NATURE _ _ - . - 39 

LEAD US NOT INTO TEMPTATION _ 40 

LINES ON A DARK KNIGHT > . . 41 

A. B.-ING IN THE KITCHEN _ _ - 42 
WILL SOMEBODY KINDLY REMOVE 

THE SUNRISE __._-- 43 

WHY MEN HAVE LEFT HOME > > 43 

THE DREAMER WAKES . > . - 44 

ODE (H.C.L.) ._._--- 46 

OUR ALIBI _ - 47 

SHIVERY .--.--- 47 

FALSE COLORS .--..-- 48 

TO— TWO GUESSES . _ _ _ _ 48 

HAS IT EVER OCCURED TO YOU - - 49 

ADVENTURES WITH APHRODITE— 

MY SONG -..,._-- 55 

THANKSGIVING _._.-. 55 

OCTOBER'S LOVER . . _ . . 56 

APPRAISAL _ - . - _ - _ 56 

A SIMPLE -FLOWER . _ . . . 57 

NOCTURNE ....>_- 57 

TRUE POETRY ------ 58 

NEW YEARS, 1917-18 - . - - . 59 



SONNET ----._.. 61 

ASHES OP LOVE 62 

HOPE -_--.__--. 62 

THE LIGHT OF THE WORLD . _ _ 63 

CONTENTMENT __.._. 63 

THE HUNTER'S MOON . _ _ _ 64 

CARGOES _-.-.___ 65 

ODE TO THE BIRD'S RETURN _ _ _ 65 

EYES THAT ARE MISSING . . - 66 

LOVE AND MUSIC ...___ 67 

THE SOUL OP LOVE . . . ^ _ 67 

EVERYTHING GOES UP IN SMOKE - 68 

THE SOUL'S LAST LOVE . . _ . 69 

THE LAST LOVE .--... 70 

HOPELESS __._-.. 72 

OLD PUZZLE BOOK _ .... 73 

A WINTRY PRAYER . _ _ > . 75 

THE LEAVEN OP TEARS . . _ . 76 

WERE I THE KING OP PAIRYLAND > 76 

IT GOES BACK TO ITS OWN _ _ - 77 

HER SPIRIT --_.--_ 77 
MISCELLANEOUS MOODS— 

A GYPSY'S LONGING _ . . . . 83 

PREEDOM -_.-_- ^ 84 

THE BALM OP TEARS _ . _ - 84 

WAITING ... - - - - _ 85 

BUTTERFLIES .___-- 86 

SUNSETS >___._- 86 

AUGUST ___--._. 87 

MY DREAMS AND I _ . . . . 87 

THE REAL ARISTOCRAT . . . . 88 

TRAGEDY _.__.__.- 89 

TO A NORTH DAKOTA NIGHT . _ _ 89 

WHEN GYPSIES GO HOME _ . . 90 

THE CYNIC _-._.__ 91 

TO A CALIPORNIA POPPY _ _ . . 92 
MOODS (LISTENING TO THE ORCHESTRA 

PLAY "HOME, SWEET HOME") _ . 94 

AT THE PEET OP KINGS - _ _ 97 

A PRO-BRITISH KITTEN _ . . . 98 

OLD CLOTHES ...-_. 99 

THE AWAKENING HOUR _ _ _. 100 

MY COMPANIONS OP THE NIGHT . 101 

MAN AND HIS FUTURE - . _ , 101 

TRANSCIENT MOODS . _ . . 102 



Go, take this message to her, Little Book, 

Asking her charity the while 
Her gay eyes in thy simple pages look. 

Mayhap in vain, to find a smile; 
Let these rhymes trifles caustic critics brave. 

Expecting therefrom only scorn as toll; 
But just for you, alone, Old Pal, I'll save 

The great unwritten poems of my soul. 



BY WAY OF APOLOGY 

Inasmuch as the author prides himself 
with sumcient power of discrimination to 
judge poetry from mere verse, he feels 
that, despite all his poetical faults that 
critics may find in this collection, he did 
not try to exalt his work by dignifying it 
with the name "poetry." It is merely that 
kind of composition commonly known as 
"newspaper verse," most of it having been 
ground out on a typewriter in an editorial 
room to top off a daily "colyum," personally 
conducted by him. Most of the verses here- 
in appeared in the New Paltz (N. Y.) Times, 
of which he was at one time editor, and in 
the Devils Lake Daily Journal, on which pa- 
per he is now earning the price of the 
doughnuts which he eats. He feels that if 
his sensitive critics wil,l look upon the work 
in its true light, they will accept it for what 
it is, and not for what they want it to be. 

The author regrets that, due to hasty 
proof-reading, several typographical errors 
have crept into the verses, which have a 
nasty habit of staring at hikn as the eyes of 
dead man do at the man's murderer. But 
the author consoles himself with the 
thought that such things creep into the best 
regulated publications. 

— T. F. McC. 

Devils Lake, N. D., June 1, 1921. 



MISSING LINKS 



J. 



It puzzles me at times 
Which came first, 
The tail or 
The monkey. 

11. 

I wonder, 

Watching people come and go, 

If the Missing Link 

Did leave only his 

Tail to propogate the species; 

So many people are like tails: 
Useful only for wagging 
And hanging 'round. 

III. 

If only the fittest survive, 
What excuse for existeitce, 
Frinstance, 
Have landlords 
And critics? 

IV. 

The Old Stone Age 
Is a long ways off: 
My fame as a poet 
Likewise. 



MISSING LINKS 



I would dedicate a ballad 

To Pithycanthropus Erectus 

And praise him because 

He left something 

Whereby we could remember him- 

He never tried to write poetry. 

vi. 

Ballads written 
To la woman's eyes 
Turn tragedies 
The while she winks 
At the other fellow. 

VII. 

A good monkey is, 
I think, 
More useful 
Than a bad singer: 

The monkey knows his place 
And stays up there. 

VIII. 

Evolution is 

A wonderful thing: 

It took the Lord 

A million years 

To produce the plumber. 



MISSING LINKS 



IX. 

It is a long step 
From monkey to man; 
It is a short step 
From man to monkey. 

X. 

Does the bee sting 

The flower 

It kisses the while 

It sips the honey? 

I have known of 

Other kisses 

That carry their stings- 

XI. 

When men have nothing 

To fight for 

There will be no more wars. 

But woman 

We have with us always. 

XII. 

There are three periods 

In the life of a day 

When I muse over 

Life and its mysteries — 

Frinstance, 

Lying in bed in the morning, 

Sitting in the barber's chair, 

And getting my shoes shined. 



MISSING LINKS 



XIII. 

To be broken-hearted, 
Yet hide your tears; 
To be afraid of death, 
Yet flaunt your fears ; 
To be penniless 
Yet sing a song; 
To be with crooks. 
Yet do no wrong; 
To love a woman, 
Yet knov/ she hates; 
Smile at one grief 
While another waits — 

To be all of this 

Is part of the plan 

God had in mind 

When He visioned a man. 

XIV. 

Love is so strange a thing 

To some men. 

That they mistake it 

For poison ivy 

And run away. 

XV. 

To be a reader 
Of the world's best books 
Is to be in partnership 
With God. 



MISSING LINKS 



XVL 

I could be a traitor 
To many things. 
Frinstance — 
To a bottle of Scotch, 
To a loveless kiss, 
To a purse of gold — 
These bring tears. 

But my country 
Makes me gay 
With patriotism, 
And the joy 
Of duty. 

No mian can be a traitor 
To such happiness. 

xvn. 

I often wonder. 

While she plays dreams 

On the piano, 

If her soul sails 

With the songs 

The music sings 

Into the mysterious. 

Invisible realms 

Of the unseen world — 

Or does she merely 

Strike a chord, 

And let it go its 

Unseen way 

Alone, dying, forgotten? 



MISSING LINKS 



ill 



XVIII. 

When you feel 

The world has turned 

Against you — 

Turn around 

And watch the sunrise. 

XIX. 

My town has many things 

Of which I am proud; 

Frinstance, 

The sunrise, 

Moonlight nights, 

Lavender sunsets. 

And some people 

Who love life so much 

That they smile 

When one greets them. 

XX. 

Loving a woman 

Merely because her eyes are blue, 
Is like drinking home brew 
Merely because it has been colored. 

XXI. 

Some people have 

Combination locks on their hearts; 

Then, 

Lose the combinations. 



MISSING LINKS 



XXII. 

She said she would 
Like to sail the Nile — 
I heiard of a woman once 
Who sailed the Nile, 
Broke a Roman's heart 
And lost an empire — 

The Nile puts 
Bad notions into 
Folks' heads. 

XXIII. 

Dreams, dreams, dreams: 

Fairy tales re-lived; 

Sheheresade re-telling 

Her king an endless story; 

Knights riding out to combat ; 

Romeo re-loving Juliet; 

Antony re-vamped by Cleopatra; 

Rome rising and falling; 

Pirate gold again dug up, 

And men dying 

To make a woman smile — 

That is how I felt, 

These things filled my soul ; 

Yet I was sober. 

The orchestra was playing 

The Barcarole 

From the Tales of Hoffman. 



MISSING LINKS 



XXIV. 

A little, green, clay Buddha 
Upon the table stood; 
Breathing burning incense, 
As little Buddhas should. 

I gazed land sort of wondered, 
How like that thing is man : 
Clay statue, soul but incense. 
Burning for a span. 

Clay statue, yet a gypsy, 
Almost a living thing; 
He tries to dance, to love, to kiss, 
And even tries to sing. 

And when the burning incense 
Dies and fades laway. 
The statue falls to pieces — > 
Like that little god of clay. 

XXV. 

He fought his country's battles. 

He was tall, gawky, lean. 

His uniform too large, 

His manner rough, 

His voice gruff. 

His stride ungainly, 

Yet— 

His death was graceful. 

Harmoniously musical ; 

His shroud was woven 

On the loom of Duty, 

And was a perfect fit. 



MISSING LINKS 



XXVI. 

Some men drink to be merry, 
Others to forget their troubles, 
While still others 
Merely to get drunk. 

XXVII. 

Moths fly about 
The electric lights, 
But never get shocked. 
Men fly about the light 
That lies in woman's eyes, 
And become electrocuted. 
Or something. 

XXVIII. 

When a man falls in love 
He never knows whether 
He's bound heavenward 
Or hellward. 

He soon gets married 
And learns the truth. 

XXIX. 

It is mighty hard to 

Know one's place 

In the eternal scheme 

Of things 

When the other fellow always 

Marries the girl. 



10 MISSING LINKS 



XXX. 

An old auto passed by door, 
'Twas not a pretty one, 
Its paint was off in spots, 
And its old motor 
Made a noisy sound, 
Yet— 

It v/as moved by the same 
Invisible power that moves 
God's most beautiful orbs. 

XXXI. 

Music is often intoxicating. 
Which is one thing 
The prohibitionists 
Overlooked. 

For all small favors 
Let us be thankful. 

XXXII. 

The Land of Alibi 
Is inhabited by 
Lazy men, 
Whose only laws 
Are excuses, 
And who never get 
Anywhere. 

It's a helluva country 
To be president of. 



MISSING LINKS 11 



XXXIII. 

A man does three 

Desperate things 

In a lifetime, 

Frinstance : 

Gets born, 

Palls in love. 

And drinks home brew. 

XXXIV. 

It has long been 
A mooted question, 
Which eyes are the 
More beautiful. 
Brown or blue. 

However, it is merely 

A matter of circumstance. 

XXXV. 

Treasure Island 
Is a fairyland. 
Completely surrounded 
By dreams. 

The only people who 
Find it are those who 
Try to make 
Their dreams come true. 



12 MISSING LINKS 



XXXVI. 

Her smile was so warm 
Tliat it would melt 
The coldest heart- 

Eiit it was an 
Absolute failure 
Trying to thaw the 
Ice in the mJlk bottle. 

XXXVII. 

When I would humble myself, 
I go out into the night 
And look up at the stars, 
And revel in their infinite 
Distance and glorious 
Lustre. 

Then I go to sleep, 

Thinking how small 

An atom is man, 

How weak the light of fame, 

And how soon 

Is he forgotten. 

The stars are laughing 
At our sense of 
Self-importance. 



MISSING LINKS 13 



XXXVIII. 

Marriage does one 
Of two things for a man: 
It makes a better man of him, 
Or drives him to drink- 
But the driving is not 
As good as it used to be. 

XXXIX. 

I like to think of my past 
As a book that has b§en 
Read and placed back 
On the shelf. 

I take it down occasionally 
To have it rebound; 
But the binder cannot 
Erase the tear stains 
On some of the pages, 
Nor replace the pages 
Of lost opportunities 
Which have been torn out. 

He merely makes the book 
Look respectable alongside 
Those of today and the 
Hopes of tomorrow. 



14 MISSING LINKS 



XL. 

Some men fall in love 
Because they can't help it, 
And others because 
They want someone to 
Darn their socks. 

But all roads lead 
To matrimony. 

XLI. 

There are two occasions 
When a man will make 
A fool of himself, 
Frinstance, 

When a woman is laughing 
At his antics, 
And when he is 
Drinking Home Brew. 

XLII. 

Making the whole world 
Dry might have 
Serious consequences. 

Consider the predicament 
Of the moon — 
Nobody will live on it. 



MISSING LINKS 15 



THERE IS NO CHOICE. 

She asked us which we preferred, 

A bottle of wine 

Or a woman's love. 

We answered 

That when one 

Must decide . 

'Twixt love and duty 

His duty comes first. 

Strange to say, 
She hasn't 
Spoken to us since. 

HOPE AND OTHER THINGS. 

We told her we 

Wrote poetry to the moon. 

''When the moon is 

Not shining, 

What do you do?" 

She asked demurely. 

''Well/' 

We told her, 

"We write it anyway, 

Hoping the moon 

Will shine again- 

"There ^.ilways 
Has beein an 
Excuse for poetry." 



16 MISSING LINKS 

NOW WHAT WOULD YOU DO IN A 
CASE LIKE THAT? 

We were discussing 
Circuses and theatres. 
We told her 
We should like to 
Travel with a circus. 

Oh, yes, 

She said demurely, 
I always liked 
The clowns. 

WOMAN'S WILES. 

There was laughter in her eyes, 

And a smile upon her lips; 

She was very jolly 

About something 

She was reiading in a letter. 

I made bold to 

Ask her why so merry? 

She turned her eyes 
On me and smiled: 
''This boob says 
In his letter 
That I am the only 
Girl in the world.'' 

Whereat I 
Smiled with her. 



MISSING LINKS 17 

RESEMBLANCES. 

The wind has a wierd 
Tale- 
Sounds, so to speak, 
Like a political 
Campaign — > 
It blows. 
And blows, 
And blows, 
Yet— 
It says nothing. 

HOW TO BE CLEVER THOUGH 
OTHERWISE. 

Various people 
Have various talents: 
Some dance well, 
Others are apt at bridge ; 
Still others 

Are good conversationalists, 
And a few are 
Really entertaining. 

We are content 
To watch the 
Others show off 
TTieir talents. 

That's the best thing 
We do. 



18 MISSING LINKS 



BEING SOULFUL IS HARD ON THE 
SOLES. 

I think I could 
Look into her eyes 
And find something 
Soulful there; 
Something deep and 
Thrilling — 

If— 

She didn't insist 
Upon looking into mine 
And saying 
"Let's shimmy." 

CARPENTIER. 

He is the hero of the hour; 

Fought the Huns, 

And his France 

Decorated him. 

He has a swing that 

Has lulled many a would-be champ 

To sleep for the count; 

He is a king of pugilists, 

A pug of pugs — 

But— . 

He's French, 

And he likes violets. 



MISSING LINKS 19 

THERE ARE SEVERAL HEREAFTERS. 

We were talking 

About spiritism, 

And the astral plane 

And the cosmos, 

And all that sort of thistg. 

'*Can you converse 
With some of my dead 
Ancestors?" 
She asked us. 

We told her we could 
If we were properly 
Introduced to them. 

"That's for 
You to arrange," 
She said- 
She didn't tell 
Us where they are. 
And lest we 
Perchance name 
The wrong place, 
We thought 
We had pursued 
The subject 
Sufficiently. 



20 MISSING LINKS 



WHY MEN DO THIS OR THAT. 

Some men sing because 

They feel that way, 

Others because they 

Can't help it, 

And still others 

Because they 

Don't know any better- 

THINGS THAT CRAWL. 

She is a very sensible 
Young woman; 
She told me there 
Are only two things 
Of which she is afraid : 

Men and 
Rattlesnakes. 

POOR RICH MEN. 
She said she wants 
To marry a millionaire ; 
That he must be 
Very, very old, 
With one foot in the grave. 

But she is 
Very pretty, and 
Men like that 
Have weak eyesight 
Which makes them 
Poor indeed. 



OTHER THINGS 



THE DANGER MARK. 

She asked him why, with cold disdain, 

He flew from her embrace. 
And why he sang no sweet refrain 

Unto her lovely face. 

She asked him why he would evade 

The smiles her eyes impart. 
(She feared he was a bit afraid 

That love would break his heart-) 

*'It is not all of love to kiss," 

He answered patiently, 
**Nor all of love to feel a bliss 

In amorous melody. 

"Some love thee for thine azure eyes, 
And some thy lips would sing: 

And to thy hair some breatheth sighs, 
Some love thy laughter's ring- 

''Whenas on thee mine eyes doth gaze, 

How far the distance be. 
My soul with love is all ablaze — 

And this sufRceth me. 

"And thus safe distance I shall seek. 

Nor care if thou dost scoff — 
ril kiss thee not on lips nor cheek, 
Lest all thy paint come off." 



OTHER THINGS 



IT DOESN'T PAY TO BE TOO 
PARTICULAR. 

Bespeak me, old Bacchus, whom we have" 

offended 
By making thy virtues all Eighteenth 

amended, 
A glass of some, rare, mellowed biting 

nepenthe. 
Something that Jupiter's wine makers sent 

thee 
To cheer up old Jove when wild Mars or 

Minerver 
Jazzed on Olympus with overmuch ferver. 

Bespeak me, I ask thee with voice some- 
what teary 

A f^lass of some old stuff; Fm getting 
quite weary 

Of drov/ning my gloom in this doubtful 
Home Brew, 

Which isn't a bit like the good old stuff 
you 

Used to hand 'cross the bar ere the world 
went insane 

For the want of a drought which I fear 
will remain. 

Or, Bacchus, if thou knowest not where 

they hid 
The wine that we drank ere they clamped 

down the lid 



OTHER THINGS 



I prithee that thou, in pure symp'athy 

bring 
Some Mule, or Home Brew — or any old 

thing- 

LET'S GIVE IT TO THEM. 

Such a slender type of maiden, 
Hair as black as any night; 
And her slender form arrayed in 
Flimsy dreams of purest white ; 

Her eyes are big, bright blueish things. 
Her mouth's a cupid's bow; , 

Her voice is music when she sings; 
Her cheeks with tint aglow: 

A tiny part of God's big plan, 
A blushing rose among the weeds, 
And yet she drives the biggest man 
Afield to do great deeds. 

To think that such a little thing 
Should cause so much unrest 
Among us men, from slave to king — 
'Tis a woman's world at best. 

AUTUMN DAYS. 

Gold across the sunset sky, 
Cool blows the breath of morn. 
Summer birds now southward fly — 

And thus is Autumn born. 

Forgotten summer with its heat, 
And stilled is Pluvius' thunder; 



28 OTHER THINGS 

Refilled with life are folks we meet 
And old ills torn asunder. 

A little spell of days like these — 

Of sunsets draped in gold, 

Of zephyrs dancing through the trees, 

Of joys unsung, untold. 

They're but a little interlude, 
A respite filled with thrills. 
Between hot Summer's desuetude 
And Winter's winds and chills. 

SOMETHING'S ALWAYS MISSING. 

He loves her face, angelic, 
Loves the dreamy look that lies 
Deep down within those jewels 
God had given her for eyes. 

He loves her sylph-like figure. 
And the silkness of her hair; 
He tells us there's no woman 
That with her can quite compare. 

She's beautiful and brilliant, 
Yet simple are her frocks; 
And he loves her, aye, adores her — 
But she wouldn't darn his socks 



OTHER THINGS 29 



THE TEST OF CULTURE. 

She may have eyes that sparkle 
Like Aldebaran at night; 
Her lips may be inviting-, 
And her hair a gorgeous sight. 

She may be versed in fiction, 
Or adept at weaving rhyme ; 
She may be quite romantic, 
And her thoughts may be sublime. 

She may be wondrous, queenly, 
A blushing rose, perchance — 
"But listen, kid, now tell me. 
Can the Jane you speak of dance?" 

THE FIRST ROBIN. 

How lonesome must the robin be 
Who pipes his song of spring. 
In North Dakota's wintry March — 
No worms nor anything. 

I think he shows poor judgment 
In his wild desire to fly; 
He ought to wait 'til spring is here, 
Say, some time in July- 

THAT BREATH OF SPRING. 

There is a breath of springtime 
In the circumambient air; 



30 OTHER THINGS 

But Spring is such a blusterer — 
He blows things ev'ry where. 

He blows my lid 'way down the street; 

My lady's equipoise 

Is much disturbed by Spring's strong 

breath — 
(Her hosiery makes much noise.) 

Old Spring is ^uch a blusterer — 

I fear he'll be my death; 

He blows and blows and blows and 

blows — 
I wish he'd hold his breath. 

SPRINGING A SPRING SOMETHING 
ABOUT CLEAN-UP WEEK. 

His name was Galileo 

And he dreamed some funny dreams, 
About the stars and planets 

And the sun's unending beams. 

But since he was a dreamer, 

Of the visionary kind, 
Others ridiculed him — 

They were ignorant and blind. 

With vision telescopic 
Galileo swept the skies, 



OTHER THINGS 31 



And thereby cleaned the cobwebs from 

Men's superstitious eyes. 

And thus the dirt of ages, 

And the ignorance, it seems, . 

Were swept away forever by 
Old Galileo's dreams. 

And here in this old town, of course, 

We need not svv^eep the skies 
To find a world of beauty, for 

'Before our doors it lies. 

And yet we may not see it, 

Nor be sure that it is here, 
If it is hidden underneath 

The rubbish of a year. 

So while we're dreaming April dreams. 

And while the birdies sing — 
Let's Galileonize the town. 

And sweep the dear old thing. 

OH, SHAH! 

There's an Oriental something 
Hov'ring 'round my realm of dreams; 
A something sort o' mystical 
So strange * * * ^^^^ y^-j. j-j- seems 

To bring back thoughts that sometime 

In the distant long ago 

I was a Persian something 

And I sang a ballado 



32 OTHER THINGS 

Unto a liquid something 

With a taste that seemed to last * * * 

I drank it all (the liquid) 

In that bygone day that's past- 

I wonder what returns such thoughts 
Unto my realm of dreams; 
They do not seem to fit at all 
In prohibition schemes * * * 

There's an Oriental something * * * 

Now, there it comes again — 

I wonder if I was a Shah 

And wined with Musselmen * * * 

There's an Oriental something * * * 
Oh, doggone it, what a fool 
Am I to let it get my goat * * * 
Say, boy, unhitch that mule!* 

(*A North Dakota drink noted for its 
kick.) 

FRIENDS. 

Her eyes were haunted with a smile. 

And round her little lips 
A teasing something did beguile, 

As wine your senses grips. 

Her hair had all the softness of 
The locks of Priam's maid ; 



OTHER THINGS 33 



It seemed quite natural to love 
A lady thus arrayed. 

And I did love her — verily — 

I almost told her so — 
(Ye Gods, to think that men like me 

Such silliness should show.) 

For she was such a little thing; 

Quite young — yet, wise, at that; 
I held her close, to hear her sing — 

This little pussy-cat. 

ON ADOPTING A HOBBY. 

Lord Byron swam the Hellespont 

To prove Leander could, 

For Byron had to' pull the stunt 

To make his verses good; 

Bill Shakespeare had a penchant, 

So his biographers say. 

Of poaching on his neighbors 

In a reckless sort o' way; 

Tom Moore, who used to tilt the glass 

TTie while he'd poetize, 

Had something of a weakness for 

The light in woman's eyes; 

They tell us Keats, when Fate had clipped 

His wings before she oughter 

Desired the future to recall 



34 OTHER THINGS 

His name was writ on water; 

01 Goldsmith had a garret 

Where he starved and cursed the times; 

Chris Marlowe on the bean was biffed 

While full of booze and rhymes. 

And thus it does appear to all 

That poets of the past, 
Had funny little hobbies 

That have made their mem'ries last. 

And it is not unnatural, 

Knowing how these guys got by, 
That I should hunt a hobby, 

So these Links and things won't die. 

And thus I think I'll cultivate — 

In re aforesaid rule — 
A friendship with the fellow who's 

Yclept the Animule.* 

(* Meaning, of course, home brew.) 

TO MY VALENTINE. 

I love you — 

You with eyes that sparkle 

Like a goblet of wine; 

Whose silken tresses fall 

Like Niagara's graceful waves, 



OTHER THINGS 35 

Over the rolling precipice of 
Your alabaster brow! 

I love you — 

You, whose silvery voice 

Gives warmth to the cool winter air 

It strikes, and far surpasses 

The liquid warblings of 

Summer's sweetest birds! 

Yea, I love you — 

Fairest of all the fair, 

You, whose youthful heart 

And gay young soul 

Make light the burdens of the Universe, 

I love you ! 

And you are all I say you are; 
To me the sun rises in the lustrous 
Brilliance of your wistful eye; 
The moon has not a greater grace 
Than that which outlines the 
Delicate countour of your countenance. 
You are the most beautiful thing 
The world has ever seen. 

With all the little quiverings of 

My throbbing heart, 

With all the eloquence at my command, 

With all the fervor of a loveful soul, 

And with all the hope of 



36 OTHER THINGS 



One whose love is real, 

I send you this, my valentine — 

But, for the love of Mike, 
What's your name, 
And where do you live? 

IT ALL DEPENDS UPON THE 
WEATHER. 

Oh, for the life of the gypsy, 
,To wander at will o'er the land; 

With never a sorrow or worry — 
A gypsy so care-free and tanned. 

rd sing to the God of Creation- 
(Were I but a gypsy and free) 

A song filled with wildest elation 
(That is, if He'd listen to me.) 

And being a gypsy and wand'ring 
At will o'er the fields and the woods, 

I'd laugh at the high cost of living — 
For Nature delivers the goods. 

Yet, ere I began my crusadin', 
(That is, as a gypsy, you know) 

I'd corral a wee, winsome maiden. 
And make her a real gypsy beau. 

And rhymes I would pluck from the 
flowers, 



OTHER THINGS 37 

An epic Td slice from the dew ; 
And these would my love serve at lunch- 
eon — 
A veritable gypsical stew- 

V/e'd sip from the clover its honey 

(That is, when we've learned how 'tis 
done) 

We'd never need hanker for money, 
And clothes la Poiret we would shun. 

Oh, for the life of a gypsy, 

To wander at will o'er the land — 

Where's the maid who is willing to wander 
And live the free life I have planned? 



Yet, girlie, while thinking it over, 
In thoughts more prosaic and plain, 

My gypsical wanderings would oft be 
Postponed on account of the rain- 

THOSE PASSING GLANCES. 

I looked into her dreamy eyes, 
And she returned the glance; 

And yet, I should not dare surmise 
(She liked the circumstance. 

For I have never met the maid 

By formal etiquette — 
And yet her eyes seemed unafraid 

To speak when mine they met. 



38 OTHER THINGS 



And now the thing I'd like to know 

Is what she said to me 
The while her eyes looked at me so — 

Was it disdain or glee? 

Yet, fearing lest the truth might hurt 

I'll take not any chance 
To quizz her, but will keep alert 

For just a passing glance. 

And while her voice to friends will speak 

Of men and things and books, 
Her dreamy eyes I e'er shall seek 

And talk to her in looks. 

THE SNOWSTORM. 

If I were a little bird, 

I'd find a winged mate, 
And then we two (upon my word) 

Would 'migitely migrate. 

Or, if I were a fuzzy bear. 
When winter 'round doth roll, 

I should worry, I should care — 
I'd crawl into my hole. 

But since I'm not a fuzzy bear. 

Nor any winged thing ; 
I'll shiver in the wintry air. 

And whistle for the Spring. 



OTHER THINGS 39 



BACK TO NATURE. 

Whenas in furs my lady goes, 
Betogged therewith from head to toes, 
Meseems she looks a wee bit wild, 
(Albeit she is very mild) ^ 
And makes me think how Darwin once 
Was hight a fool and eke a dunce 
For telling us we all once wore 
A suit of furs — and nothing more. 



WHEN THE LEAVES BEGIN TO FALL. 

Nature has painted the beautiful leaves 

A beautiful color of brown; 
Yet, Oh, how my sensitive soul sadly 
grieves 

To see all those leaves falling down. 

The tree looks so sad when he's stripped 
of his coat. 
That gold colored coat wrapped 
around ; 
Naked he stands, while o'er the lawn 
floats 
His leaves with their rustling sound. 

I love the brown leaves, and their shades 
make me glad; 
I write of their beauty with ease ; 
But raking them up on the lawn makes me 
mad — 
I wish they would stay on the trees- 



40 OTHER THINGS 



LEAD US NOT INTO TEMPTATION. 

Her eyes were beautiful blue things 

That looked into mine and smiled; 

I saw a strange story in them, 

And as I peered deeply into her soul 

My eyes suddenly dropped, 

And I saw her lips * * * 

Ah, my Soul, such lips; 

They were like a bottle of rare old wine, 

Unopened, yet inviting * * * 

Ah, forgive me, I was speaking 
Of her blue eyes — 
I looked again into them to find 
The love story of the ages- 
It was there; 

Long I looked and read the tale : 
Again I saw Cleopatra lost 
In the arms of Antony; 
Dante wooed his heavenly Beatrice; 
Eloise her Abelared kissed 
The while I looked, 
And Romeo smiled in Juliet's eyes — 
vSuch scenes saw I within 
Her beautiful blue eyes * * * 

But again my gaze dropped. 

It met her red lips — 

I forgot for the moment the blue 

In her eyes, the ancient tales of love 

That hid beneath their depths, 



OTHER THINGS 41 

Gone were Antony and his Nilish 'Vamp," 
Forgotten Abelard and Romeo — 
All I saw was lips, lips * * * 
Well, I just kissed them, 
That's all. 

LINES ON A DARK KNIGHT. 

Oh, would I were a knight and bold, 

Accoutred for the fray. 
And things were as they were of old 

When knights at arms did play. 

rd search me out a winsome dame, 
.And pledge her to my heart; 

Then off I'd speed with eyes aflame, 
And prove my knightly art. 

And when I've slain a million knights 
And spoiled their knightly ire, 

rd speed me back to Love's delights, 
'And claim my heart's desire. 

And if the damsel failed, forsooth. 

To love me as she ought, 
I'd eat her where she stood, in truth, 

To sooth my knightly wroth. 

So, love, I hope you'll cease to try 

To live as folks of old, 
And thank your lucky stars that I 

Am not a knight so bold. 



42 



OTHER THINGS 



A. B.-ING IN THE KITCHEN. 

She cavorted through a college 

Sponging up a lot of knowledge 

Doled up philosophic guys 

In glasses rimmed with gaudy tortoise 

shells; 
She learned to think with Plato. 
Learned the why of the potato, 
Read the method of Descartes 
And other philosophic swells. 
She won, by her endeavor 
To Columbus Truth wherever / 
TTiat elusive thing should wander 
In its temperamental sprees, 
A scholastic reputation; 
And upon her graduation 
She was decorated with a lot 
Of Latinized degrees. 
Her knowledge is profound and 
She's a joy to have around and 
She often makes us *'Knowitalls" 
Feel like a lot of fishes; 
"Now, how do you apply,'' I asked, 
As in her beaming smile I basked, 
'This knowledge?'' And she said: 
'*I'm helping mother wash the dishes." 



OTHER THINGS 43 



WILL SOMEBODY KINDLY REMOVE 
THE SUNRISE. 

I love to watch the big red sun 
Sink down beyond the west, 

Awakening within my soul 
Its sweetest dreams and best. 

But when the same sun in the morn 

Arises in the east, 
Awakening my sleepy soul, 

I hate the big red beast. 

WHY MEN HAVE LEFT HOME. 

The Olympic charms of Venus 

(Shot an arrow through our heart 
Whenas that classic beauty 

Starting vamping as an art; 
And then the Trojan Helen 

Bumped us with her winning smile, 
And Cleopatra vamped us 

As we sailed the ancient Nile. 

And to our call Monastic 

Elois her love would write. 
And on the streets of Florence 

We were vamped by B'trice right; 
The lady known as Juliet 

Was a wonder as a vamp. 
And with the wild DuBarry 

The Parisian streets we'd tramp; 



44 OTHER THINGS 

We never can forget the way 

Priscilla carried on 
The time she pulled that vamping stuff 

On Miles and poor old John. 

And yet, we have survived the jolts 
'These dames our hearts have vext; 

And when the last has vamped us clean — 
We're ready for the next- 

THE DREAMER WAKES. 

My soul in dreamy moods is oftimes lost, 
And those are times when I could crave 

to be 
Remote from worldly things — just to be 

tossed 
Upon the billows of my memory's mystic 

sea, 
Where sail serenely tales of ages past: 
Of knights who died to make a woman 

smile. 
Of conquering kings who peaceful lands 

harrasst, 
How Egypt's queen a Roman did beguile, 
How Ceaser headlong plunged thru 

bar'bric land 
And died a martyr to ambition's lust; 
How Roland fell, to keep his chief's com- 
mands. 
And how Ganelon broke his sacred trust; 
In sooth, my soul, when in these dreamy 

<moods 



I 



OTHER THINGS 45 

Gets lost amidst the myriad wondrous 
things \ 

In history's golden past: The deadly 
.feud 

And noble deeds, and loves the poet sings- 

I lost myself yestreen in such a maze 
Of thoughts, fantastic, of the deathless 

past. 
Rejoicing in the thoughts that I shall raise 
Myself beyond this wordly ill-made cast, 
This swirling, struggling, human mass. 
That feeds its transient body and forgets 
The soul needs food, that it might better 

pass 
Into its cosmic plane without regrets. 

And while I thus was dreaming peace- 
fully. 

Banqueting my soul on feasts sublime, 

A voice rang out that made my sweet 
dreams flee, 

And brought me back to this decadent 
time ; 

It was an awful thing, he said — a cruel 
thrust. 

It made me feel my soul had drunk the 
the dregs 

Of bitter wines. These words at me he 
thrust : 

*'Say, you out there; how shall I 
fry your eggs?'' 



46 OTHER THINGS 

ODE (H. C. L) 

I hail thee, wondrous creature, 
Thy symmetry of feature 

Evokes my praise; 
Thou sweet one, gold-complected- 
Mine eyes have ne'er detected 

More charming Maize. 

Dear one, I adore thee, 

My soul pines only for thee — 

But from afar; 
For thou are high above me, 
I know I should not love thee. 

Thou holy star. 

Time was, once, thou sweet one, 
When I could gayly eat one 

of thee a day; 
But now I must resist thee, 
Unless the Boss assist me. 

And raise my pay. 

But, dear one, yet I'm hoping 
We two may be eloping. 

And leave this low rut; 
And when I do possess thee, 
I'll kiss thee and caress thee — 

Thou precious Doughnut. 



OTHER THINGS 



OUR ALIBI. 

Old Horace tuned the Latin lyre; 

And Homer's songs found root 
In Grecian gods' heroic fire; 

And Ovid piped the lute. 

In ancient Rome old Virgil sang 

How Dido cut a caper; 
And Sappho Lesbos' tocsin rang, 

And burned the midnight taper. 

'Twas easy, now, I will maintain, 
For these great guys, poetic, 

To sing where summers never wane — 
That's why they were aesthetic. 

But place that gang in this cold clime. 
There's fly few rythmic splinters — 

Aesthetic things our souls fosake 
In North Dakota winters. 



SHIVERY. 

I passed her by upon the street, 
And she was young and fair; 

My furtive glance she sought to greet 
With one long, icy stare. 

But now I feel, like any crook. 

Punished for being bold; 
For when she handed me that look 

I caught an awful cold. 



48 OTHER THINGS 



FALSE COLORS. 

Whenas my lady paints her cheek, 

And powders up her nose; 

(I know I should not deign to speak 

Of trifles such as those), 

She maketh me to wonder why 

She thinketh she deceives 

My own at times observing eye — - 

In sooth her action grieves. 

And feeling thus, I oftimes think, 

(Efsoons it makes mxe start) 

That m.ayhap with the blackest ink 

She painteth e'en her heart. 



TO — Two gusses. '. 

Whenas my lady turns her back 

And smileth not on me 
It maketh me to grieve, alack. 

O'er such discourtesy. 

And yet, mayhaps, she doeth right 

Whenas she acteth so. 
For I am such a silly wight, 

I make her angry grow. 

For when she giveth me a smile, 

I bluseth with surprise ; 
And speechless stand, and dumb the while 

I basketh in her eyes. 



OTHER THINGS 49 



She knoweth well what weak return 

Her smilesi thus find in me ; 
Such wondrous things, they say, should 
earn 

Spontaneous rhapsody. 

But I should worry (are you wise?) 

Another now I woo; 
And does SHE smile and roll her eyes? 

Well, yes; I'll say she do. 



HAS IT EVER OCCURRED TO YOU? 

When with your soul you wander 

Paths where only nymphs have trod, 

And see, perchance, along your way, 

Wild Pan or some such god ; 

When, rising with the dawning. 

You would kiss the glistening dew. 

And feel the sun has risen 

For no other man but you; 

When you see, as sinks the sunshine 

O'er a bank of sapphire clouds. 

The night steal in and wrap the world 

In star-dekt, moonlit shrouds; 

When naught upsets your happiness, 

Nor anything beguiles 

The joy within your bosom. 

And men have naught but smiles; 

When nothing matters much to you, 

No sorrows find a place 

Within your bouyant consciousness; 



50 



OTHER THINGS 



And laughter lights your face ; 
When memories of a bitter past, 
The ghosts of loves now dead, 
Conjure no more to break your heart, 
And all such things have fled — 
When women's eyes are diamonds. 
And their lips invite a kiss; 
And you'd stake your reputation 
For a little thing like this — 



I say, when you're in such a mood, 
And feel no grief or pain — 
Beware, Old Dear, for you're in love 
Or else you're drunk again. 



ADVENTURES 

WITH 
APHRODITE 



MY SONG. 

I sing to the stars 

And receive no reply; 
I sing to the moon. 

And the moon gives a sigh. 

Yet I sing unto thee 

And the angels above, 
In sweet harmony, 

Carol of love. 

Then the stars and the moon 

Repeat the refrain; 
For soon, yea, too soon, 

Comes the end of the strain. 

So, sweet, let us sing 

While the song's in the air; 

For love, when a wing. 
Hath no moments to spare. 

THANKSGIVING. 

While all the world is thanking God 

For peace and rest from war, 

I, too, am thankful for that and other 

things — 
For peace and liberty; 
Peace for the suffering multitudes of 

Europe ; 
Liberty to live and love 
As the soul aspireth. 



56 ADVENTURES WITH APHRODITE 



OCTOBER'S LOVER. 

He loves her in a sweet October way — 
And to the mem'ry of her parting smile 
He loves to linger, as the moon 
On Autumn nights doth hover lovingly 
Unto her Earth, quite jealous of the rising 
sun, 

April's lover, in the fire of Spring, 

Loves while the Springtime lasts, 

And e'en in his excess consumes 

The fire of love. But he who in the Autumn 

Of his life seeks love and finds it. 

Loves constantly unto the end, unmindful 

Of the winter, passionless and cold 

And long and full of biting blasts. 

And just because he loved her in this 

sweet October way 
She called him her October Lover. 



APPRAISAL. 

What would I give for one hour's rest in 

your arms? 
Gold without measure? 
A joyful song? 
A lover's kiss? 
Nay — 

The world holds no treasure 
Large enough to pay the price 
Of an hour in Heaven — 
Like Love itself, 'tis priceless. 



ADVENTURES V/ITH APHRODITE 57 

A LITTLE FLOWER. 

A little flower's a simple thing 

To leave behind as a parting token; 

It hath no voice wherewith to sing, 

Nor words to soothe a heart that's 
broken. 

To some 'tis but a budding thought 
That poets weave into a story ; 

And some have with its petals wrought 
A wreath to symbolize their glory. 

And yet, the flower she left with me 
Hath in its soul a sweeter pleasure; 

A symbol of the memory 

Of hours that brought us Love's full 
measure. 

A little flower's a simple thing — 
To leave behind; and yet a lot 

Of hope may 'round its petals cling 
When 'tis a blue Forget-me-not. 



NOCTURNE. 

I could not deem that day complete 

If at the end thereof 
I failed to send to thee, my sweet, 

Some message of my love. 



58 



ADVENTURES WITH APHRODITE 



Now in the cool of eventide 

My Muse serenely sings 
Of how my soul, to thine allied, 

Unto thy vision clings. 

And let this be my good-night sigh: 

That some such day as this 
May end, dear heart, while you and 

Are lost in one long kiss. 

TRUE POETRY. 

I heard thee wish one eve that thou 

A poet fain would be; 
Yet, truly, I must tell thee now, 
God made a bard of thee. 



Thou art a poet of my fate, 

TTiy life my poetry; 
Thine eyes in me disseminate 

A rythmn of ecstacy. 

Thine ev'ry smile is but a part 
Of some long glorious lay; 

And ev'ry throbbing of thy heart 
A verse thereof, I say. 

So I, a fancier of rhyme. 

Save up thy smiles so sweet — 

Each smile a verse unto the time 

I have thee all — a poem complete. 

New Paltz, N. Y., 1917. 



ADVENTURES WITH APHRODITE 59 



NEW YEARS, 1917-18. 

Farewell, Old Seventeen — 
Thou v/ert my friend at times and yet 
Thou caused me many pangs of grievous 
pain. 

Dost thou recall how oft thy dragging 
hours 

Compelled my soul postpone some hoped- 
for joy? 

How dragged thy weary days the while 
some sweet 

Divine and promised happiness loomed up 
afar? 

Ah, dear old Seventeen; full oft would I 
Have cut thy pearly hours in halves to 

. speed 
Me to my love or bring my love to me. 

Farewell, old Seventeen — 

And, yet, despite how thy slow dragging 

time 
Had tortured and assailed my restless 

heart, 
Despite how weary were those days and 

nights of thine 
When sun nor moon nor stars could peer 

without 
The dismal clouds that dropped to earth 
In chilly rains ; despite how slow 



60 ADVENTURES WITH APHRODITE 

And endless seemed the hours of some 

sleepless night, 
Causing me to rise still weary with the 

morn — 
I loved thee ; and, now, since thou art gone 
I'd call thee back, had I the power, and 

live again 
Those v/eary hours — ^if just to have once 

more 
That single hour of happiness thou gavest 

me 
Upon a certain glorious moonlit night. 

Farewell, old Seventeen — 
Now thou art gone, and I am left to find 
In thy successor something that, per- 
chance, 
I missed in my anxiety to outlive thee ; 
Some golden opportunity thou offered me. 
Which I neglected while I e'en pursued 
Some phantom pleasure shorter lived than 
thou. 

And yet, old Seventeen, if thy new born 

son 
Can give me but one thousandth part of all 
The wondrous joys thou gave, Fd hail him 
Worthy of his fleeting task; and thank 

him 
And thee, and all the years to come, 



ii 



ADVENTURES WITH APHRODITE 61 

For every golden hour, for every winged 

minute which 
Their coming brings and going takes 

away. 

SONNET, 

'Twere sweet to love were loving all the 

bliss 
That ipoets in their dreamy moods doth 

sing, 
But I have found that they who lingering 

cling 
To Love's short-lived delights, its fleeting 

kiss, 
A lot of hoped-for happiness doth miss 
By over-zealous chasing of the thing. 
Which turns upon them with a deathly 

sting — 
Yet men have staked their all for such as 

this. 

And so I say that happy is the man 

Who holds his burning passions in his 

breawst. 
Nor let a woman's Mugh upset his years, 
But merely lives his own allotted span. 
And only hoping love may change his 

plan — 

To hope is happiness ; to win brings tears. 



62 ADVENTURES WITH APHRODITE 



ASHES OF LOVE. 

He loved a woman once and put 

His passion in a song; 
The woman soon forgot him, but 

The mem'ry lingered long. 

And to that mem'ry still he sings 

The same songs as of yore; 
But yet no longer 'round them clings 

The fire that once they bore. 

And now these throbbings of his mind 

Unto the flames are tossed. 
In hopes that in their fire they'll find 

The warmth her soul has lost. 



HOPE. 

The bee to the flower cometh 
The sun lat dawn to the sea, 

The moon at eve to the heavens. 
But never my Love to me ! 

The hum of the bee is mournful, 
The sun casts a gloom o'er the sea, 

The moon is a ghostly spectre — 
When Love cometh not to me ! 

Yet e'er does the sad sea hope for 
The balm of the morning sun. 

And the moon in patience awaiteth 
Tlie clouds of the night to shun. 



ADVENTURES WITH APHRODITE 63 

The bee ne'er tires of seeking, 
The nectar in some sweet flow'r — 

And I know that she is coming — 
ph, sweet is that promised hour! 

THE LIGHT OF THE WORLD. 

How cheerless would the long night be, 

How endlessly long drawn, 
If in the east we failed to see 

The light of spreading dawn. 

That life would be a useless thing 
Jf through its darkened night. 

We felt no dawn would come to bring 
Love's gloom-dispelling light. 

CONTENTMENT. 

Lost in a haze of moonlight, 
No sound save the rustling trees. 

O'er him the moon-dimmed starlight, 
,He wandered and dreamed at his ease. 

He was not alone in his roaming, 

A spirit was 'always near — 
A love that died in the gloaming; 

Drowned in a hopeless tear. 

And yet that spirit is sweeter — 
And many have loved like this — 

Than if, in the night, he could greet her 
And bury his love in a kiss. 



64 ADVENTURES WITH APHRODITE 

THE HUNTERS' MOON. 

What do they hunt when the Hunters' 
Moon 
Doth brighten the earth and the sky? 
Do they ride to the woods to a hunting 
tune, 
To the game dogs' howling cry? 

Do they frighten the rabbit that he must 
run 

All aimlessly here and there; 
Do the raccoon's eyes stare into a gun 

Do the wild birds shake in their lair? 

There may be men who do these things 
When stars, like Dian's shone. 

Stick their toes through the white that 
(Clings 
To the sky in the Hunters' Moon. 

But lovers, like you and me, my dear, 
Hunt not, on nights like these. 

The woods' wee folks nor bring a fear 
To birds, in their nesting trees. 

Yet we hunt, in the Hunters' Moon, 
We find our game in its beams; 

We ride to the woods to a hunting tune, 
And hunt Love's golden dreams. 



ADVENTURES WITH APHRODITE 



CARGOES. 

East where the sun is rising o'er 

A sea of gossamer 
Sails a fairy ship that's filled 

With dreams of lavender. 

It is sailing meward, and 

Unless it strike a shoal, 
I know that it will anchor 

In the harbor of my soul. 

And I shall claim the fairy ship, 

As all the pirates do — 
Yet all its dreams of lavender 

I shall consign to you. 

And when you take the cargo from 
;Beneath the barque's broad beams, 

I'll sail again and bring you back 
Another load of dreams. 



ODE TO THE BIRD'S RETURN. 

Come back, oh, wandering Gypsy Bird, 

And sing your songs to me ; 
Come back, for there's a welcome word 

Awaiting here for thee. 

You left us when the winter's chills 
Made safe your warmer goal; 

Your leaving brought a frost that kills 
The roses in my soul. 



G5 ADVENTURES WITH 'APHRODITE 

You've been away so long a time, 

My Gypsy Bird, I fear 
You'll not recall, in your Warm clime, 

Your going left a tear. 

But Spring is near, my Gypsy Bird, 
And you'll come back again; 

I'll hear those songs that once I heard. 
And then forget this pain. 

So, Gypsy Bird, spread forth your wings 
(Speed, March; send April here) 

Life's melody around you clings. 
You are Spring's gift of cheer. 



EYES THAT ARE MISSING. 

When tired Day crawls in her tent. 
Whose roof is lined with stars. 

And sleepy men their cares have sent 
Beyond the Dream Sea's bars, 

'Tis then my gypsy soul doth love 
To wander 'neath the skies. 

And revel in the brilliance of 
Night's million smiling eyes. 

And yet the million eyes of Night, 

Thus smiling joyously. 
Are not as gay, nor yet as bright 

As two I cannot see. 



ADVENTURES WITH APHRODITE 67 

LOVE AND MUSIC. 

As Omar in an Oriental mood 

Asserted that the Grape was but a snare, 

And challenged God to name who placed 

it there, 
I also ask, although in accents rude, 
Who sent us Love? Is it a poisoned food 
That tasted once seems not to even spare 
The strongest hearts, which break, and 

never dare 
To seek again its melancholy mood? 

I like to think 'tis but >a winged thing 
That holds, us for a while, as in a spell, 
When all is good, nor anything is wrong; 
And sad are they who let the Scarab's 

sting 
Sink deep into their hearts; for heed ye 

well. 
Love's born of music ; dies when ends the 

song. 

THE SOUL OF LOVE. 

He fell in love with a fairy queen 
Who reigned in realms above the clouds; 
Whose vesture was a shimmering sheen, 
And his, rough raiment like grim shrouds. 

Her castle was a place of dreams, 
Where nothing crude could enter in ; 
His home a hut with rough hewn beams, 
No hope had he a queen to win. 



6S ADVENTURES WITH APHRODITE 

Aiid year by year, the while she ruled 
In queenly grace her dreams' domain, 
The fire within his heart was cooled — 
But he was ne'er himself again. 

That part of him which was his soul, 
The thing unseen by worldly men. 
He sent to her; she kept the whole. 
And never sent it back again. 

And now he's waiting for that time. 
When as the rest of him has flown 
Tlie upward path to her to climb, 
Claiming what was once his own. 

EVERYTPIING GOES UP IN SMOKE, 

He lit a cigarette then, musing, spoke: 
'*How much is love like this thing which 

we smoke : 
Each lives a burning moment, each brings 

dreams, 
A momentary thrill — and then it seems 
That when the fire dies, the spell is lost, 
And coldness chills both like a winter's 

frost." 

I looked upon him in a puzzled way. 
And wondered o'er the things he had to 

say; 
*'What happens then," I asked in nonchal- 
ance — 



ADVENTURES WITH APHRODITE 69 

He gave me something of a merry glance — 
'*0h, well/' he said, **I seldom sigh or fret, 
But merely smile — and light another cig- 
arette." 



THE SOUL'S LAST LOVE. 

Out of the ashes of empires 
Greater dominions did rise; 

Out of its wrecks the Soul aspires 
New birth, new love, new ties. 

And the songs that it sings, reliving. 
Ring truer than those of old; 

'Tis a Soul that is only giving 
A love that never grows cold. 

Yet, as in the ages of history 

Great nations in triumph have died; 

Eternity's same great Mystery 

Claims the Soul as her fun'ral bride. 

So the Soul, in its greatest glory, 
Lists to its own death knell; 

And its last great, chanted story 
Is the song of its last farewell. 



70 ADVENTURES V/ITH APHRODITE 



THE LAST LOVE. 

There's a useless sort o' beggar 
Livin' on the mountain side; 

His clothes are torn and ragged 
And he seems to have no pride. 

His house is but a shaky hut, 
That trembles with the wind; 

His furniture a chair and stool, 
Of hand made, rough hewn kind. 

His hair is long and curly 

And his face, which none have seen 
Is covered with a shaggy beard — 

A sorrow wight, I ween 

I happened up that way one day, 
When June smiled in the skies. 

To quiz this lonesome beggar 
All about his family ties. 

I asked him why he lived alone. 
Why dressed he so uncouth, < 

Why ne'er a razor touched his face, 
Had e'er he been a youth? 

I told him of the great big world, 

With all its joys of livin'; 
Of brotherhood of man and love, 

And some of Christian givin'. 



ADVENTURES WITH APHRODITE 71 

The old man laughed a joyous laugh, 

(I knew not he could smile) 
''Your world's an empty hole," he said, 

*'Whiie mine's a beauteous pile." 

'*What cares my God how ragged, torn, 

The raiment that I wear; 
What cares He if I ne'er have shorn 

My head or face of hair?" 

''He chides me not whenas my home 
Doth dance with every breeze; 

Nor cares He not if I must eat 
Beneath His tow'ring trees. 

"He only asks that I be kind 
To birds and bees and, flowers; 

That, though I mingle not with men, 
J love them all the hours." 

"And so, my friend, the God I love 
Sees not the things that fade ; 

He cares not how my body's dressed 
But how my soul's arrayed-" 

I like that ragged beggar and 
When other friends have fled, 

I'll build myself a mountain hut 
And love his God instead. 



mm 

liif 



72 ADVENTURES WITH APHRODITE 

HOPELESS. 

TTie flower smiles a moment, 

And then it dies; 
The star may lose its lustre — 

.But not your eyes. 

The bird may in his singing 

Cease to rejoice; 
The harp may lose its music — 

But not your voice. 

Fades the rose's petals 

The wild bee sips; 
The sunset's red turns pallid — 

But not your lips. 

Men have ceased their praying 

To Him above; 
Faith has died, discouraged — 

But not my love. 

Your lipS; your eyes, your singing- 

A trinity 
God made to prove His wonder — 

But not for me. 



ADVENTURES WITH APHRODITE 73 



OLD PUZZLE BOOK. 
L 

He was a queer old fellow; 

Never had a lot to say J 
The nights he passed in mooning, 

And dreamed away the day. 

Something sad seemed hidden 

In his meloncholy look; 
And people only knew him by 

The name, "Old Puzzle Book." 

He never seemed to be in love, 
Nor even seemed to hate ; 

Always reading verse and things 
Which others would berate. 

He had no close companion, 
Nor ever seemed to play; 

Yet always seemed contented 
As he went his lonely way. 

n. 

One dreary day we missed him 
jAnd his meloncholy look; 

And most of us forgot the face 
Of queer old Puzzle Book. 

But searching in his empty house 
We found a crumpled note, 

Written by the queer old man — 
These are the things he wrote: 



74 ADVENTURES WITH APHRODITE 

*'Ah, you were fair as roses 
Swaying in the summer wind ; 

And I was but a dusty weed, 
Beiow your gentle kind. 

''And yet as even dusty weeds 

Will love the light of day, 
I loved you, fairest flower. 

And will love you thus alway. 

''I never could deserve you — 

Should dusty roadside weed 
Expect to win a garden rose? 

Not for mine such meed. 

''So you have gone your happy way; 

Mine paved with silent tears; 
Your heart has found its own sweet kind, 

Mine lost in useless years." 

Then we knew who found this verse. 

Why queer Old Puzzle Book 
Mooned all night and dreamed all day 

With melancholy look. 

m. 

One day when Spring spread forth her 
arms 

Embracing all her own 
We found beside a wild rose bush 

A form whence life had flown. 



ADVENTURES WITH APHRODITE 

And it was queer Old Puzzle Book — 

His soul had left this noisy whirl ; 
Clasped to his heart, in fond embrace, 
We found a picture of a girl. 

And so, beneath the April green 
Where dust nor weeds can blow. 

We buried them, full sure that soon 
Another rose will grow. 

A WINTRY PRAYER. 

Speed up, Oh Time, thy lazy flights 
To April days and summer nights. 
When budding tree and blushing rose 
Across the prairie fragrance blows. 

Return the gypsy wanderer. 
Without the need of wintry fur ; 
Bring back the songs of meadow larks, 
Put summer joys in woods and parks. 

Return the mystic Milky Way, 
Whereunder youthful lovers play; 
Put warmth into the sunset sky, 
As some wild summer day doth die. 

Oh Time, I prithee speed a bit. 
The winter's cruel ^ I'm tired of it; 
Pray speed that happy moment v/hen 
The gypsy bird flies North again. 



76 ADVENTURES Vv^ITH APHRODITE 



THE LEAVEN OF TEARS 

Into memory's fragrant realm, 
That grows with each tomorrow, 

Flit today's sweet, transcient joys, 
And every tearful sorrow. 

And as I turn the pages of 
The Book of Days and Years, 

I find the smiles oft crowded out 
By too excess of tears. 

For all the joys we would prolong 

Come to an early death; 
As singers cease their music when 

They lose their mellowed breath. 

And yet I know the Master Hand 
TTiat binds the fated Book 

Wills we learn Life's purposes 
In every backward look. 

And joy must be a short-lived thing 
To gain its own hereafter; 

Better a Memory bathed in tears 
Than one dead drunk with laughter. 



WERE I THE KING OF FAIRYLAND. 

Were I the King of Fairyland, 
.And you the Queen thereof, 

I'd have the Fairy choruses 
Pipe nothing but of love. 



ADVENTURES WITH APHRODITE 77 

TTie birds would be your subjects, 
Singing homage to your eyes; 

The big red sun would set for you, 
And just for you he'd rise. 

rd have the wildwood flowers breathe 
Sweet fragrance when you're near; 

And let no things unsightly spoil 
Your happiness, my dear. 

And, better than these joyous things, 
Fd fill your realm with love — 

Were I the King of Fairyland, 
^nd you the Queen thereof. 

IT GOES BACK TO ITS OWN. 

The frost ne'er kills the rose, she said; 

Such beauty never dies; 
God merely covers up its head 

From Man's cold, vulgar eyes. 

HER SPIRIT. 

TTie red rose fills with perfume 
xThe garden's freshened air; 

It asks no compensation 

For what it gives men there. 

And he who loves thee, sweet one, 
Would give his life for thee. 

And >asks that thou return him 
Not any royalty. 



1 



78 ADVENTURES WITH APHRODITE 

Fpr, loving thee is perfume 
That fills his soul with cheer; 

And happy is he, hoping 

That thou art somewhere near. 



i 

w 



MISCELLANEOUS MOODS 



A GYPSY'S LONGING. 

We've followed the gypsy trail where it 

leads 
To the edge of the rainbow's rim; 
We've lost ourselves in the woods' high 

weeds,^ 
Or cities, when lights grow dim; 
We've breathed the beauties of ancient 

Rome, 
And stood 'neath Chephram's Sphinx; 
We've found romance on the ocean's foam, 
And seen the sun as it drinks 
Its night cap 'neath the 'rizon's edge, 
And the stars peep out on high; 
We've dreamed our dreams, on a stony 

ledge 
Where the Rockies kiss the sky; 
tVe've seen ev'ry marvel the world can 

show. 
And dined with its varied crowds; 
There isn't a joy that we do not know, 
Nor silver nor dark lined clouds; 
And yet, as we follow the gypsy trail, 
And smile, when we'd rather frown. 
We'd leave it all if we could but hail 
A friend from our old home town. 



84 MISCELLANEOUS MOODS 



FREEDOM. 

Along a country roadside 

I saw a violet smile; 
And I would fain to pluck it 

And wear it for awhile. 

And yet the God that brought it 
Safe through the winter's strife 

Is He who placed me also 
Along the road of life. 

And so I left the flower 

To live its fated span; 
It hath a right to blossom 

Untouched by selfish man. 

And like unto the flower 
That smiles upon the sod, 

I fain would grow unhampered, 
Until Fm plucked by God. 



THE BALM OF TEARS. 

The Lord God, in Hi* wisdom, 

In the distant Long Ago, 
Sent us woman, gave her beauty. 

And a soul with love aglow. 
And men have thought her mortal ; 

Watched her beauty fade and die 
Like a flower in the Autumn, 
And they gave a passing sigh. 



MISCELLANEOUS MOODS 85 

But the Lord God stood beside her 
In the vale of sorrowed years ; 

And he gave her Life Eternal 
'As she bathed her soul in tears. 



WAITING. 

A white petaled daisy 

Once swayed with the wind 

In 'a big field of clover, 
Remote from its kind. 

And I thought me how lonely 

That daisy must be 
To live amongst strangers, 

Companionlessly. 

Yet, oft like the daisy, 

Have I felt alone; 
Though smiling with strangers, 

I sigh for my own. 

And as in the autumn 

When winds from the west 

Take the soul of the daisy 
To those it loves best, 

So my soul lawaiteth 

Some sweet passing wind 

To waft it back homeward. 
Where dwelleth its kind. 



86 MISCELLANEOUS MOODS 



^ 



BUTTERFLIES. 

The butterfly, bursting her chrysalis, 
Unfolds her wings to the skies; 

She fascinates men for a moment, 
And then like a dream she dies. 

And life is a butterfly garden; 

Each flutters a day or two; 
We chase first one, then another, 

And they die in the morning dew. 

And one we have named a woman, 
And we've chased her coiaxing smile ; 

And others are fame and fortune, 
But each is a nightmare of guile. 

For into the garden's recess 

Satiety steals unaware. 
And gold in the wings of the butterflies 

Fades in the droughty air. 



SUNSETS. 

Across the wide horizon dips 
The sun in dreams of gold; 

The day thus dies, and dark Night trips 
Into his sleepy fold. 

I would my Soul will take its flight 

Beyond th' eternal West, 
Sinking into its endless night 

With golden dreams addrest. 



MISCELLANEOUS MOODS 



AUGUST. 

There's a smile in every zephyr 
That dances through the trees; 

There's a laugh in every sunbeam, 
There's a thrill in every breeze — 

There's a sigh in every leaflet, 
There's a tear in every flower, 

For the smiles of August tell them 
That death is soon their dower. 

.Yet all the flow'rs and leaflets 
That droop their heads in tears 

Know life anew awaits them 
Whenas the Spring appears. 

And thus when Love has perished. 
And Life is chilled by Hate, 

There comes a Spring that brings us 
New love, new life, new fate. 



MY DREAMS AND I. 

Dreamy days and dreamy nights, 
And you, my Soul, a dreamy maize; 

A dreamy heaven with diamond lights, 
A dreamy sun to light our days- 



MISCELLANEOUS MOODS 



Dreams when sunrise sends its kiss 
To placid fields of summer sea; 

Dreams when sunset's golden bliss 
Brings the heavens to you and me. 

Lazily lying upon the grass, 

Aware of my kinship to the sod, 

I watch the constellations pass, 
And feel the eternal breath of God. 

Men may have their yellow gold. 

Wear their cloaks with silken seams ; 

For these they lose. I would grow old 
Arm in arm with you — my Dreams. 



THE REAL ARISTOCRAT. 

He was a wandering gypsy. 
Rather ragged in his dress; 

He had no home or loved ones, 
Lived a life of lonesomeness. 

But everywhere you'd meet him. 

He'd sing a little song; 
His soul was gay with dreaming, 

Nor wept he much nor long. 

And that is why they liked him, 

His all to them he'd give; 
The rich and would-be rich looked to 
him — 

He taught them how to live. 



MISCELLANEOUS MOODS 89 



TRAGEDY 

Her eyes were little heavens, 

So blue, and full of light; 

And 'neath her mouth there lingered 

Smiles that kisses would invite. 

She was gay when others grumbled, 
She would sing while others wept, 
And at night she dreamed of fairies, 
While the others only slept. 

But someone stole her happiness, 
And brushed her smiles away; 
And now her soul is like the world 
Upon a cloudy day. 

She could forego the smiles she's lost. 
The kisses too, it seems — 
Her life became a tragedy 
Whenas she lost her dreams. 

TO A NORTH DAKOTA NIGHT 

In the blue of the skies 

There is something that thrills, 

And makes me forget 

All the world and itsi cares. 

I guess it's the thought that 

The infinite lies 

Beyond the far stars and the idea fills 

My soul with a longing. 

And, quite unawares, 

Makes it a part of that 



90 MISCELLANEOUS MOODS 



Endless domain 
Where beauty is love, 
And love's ne'er in vain. 

And oft do I wonder while 
Glimpsing the stars, 
Under the heaven's broad ceiling of blue, 
Why men seldom gaze towiards the 
Wonders that beam 
In the blue skies above them 
And choose not to dream, 
When dreams are the things that make 
jiving ring true. 

And let them pursue. 

Be they many or few. 

The phantoms that drown them in lethargic 

(Streams — 
I'll send my soul 
On the wings of a song, 
And find in the stars a bright haven of 

dreams. 



WHEN GYPSIES GO HOME 

Have you been miles and miles away 
From those you hold most dear; 
And when you hear the music play 

You'd stifle back a tear. 
For deep, down in your heart's recess 
You felt that awful pain 
Of everlasting lonesomeness 

That drives you 'most insane? 



MISCELLANEOUS MOODS 91 



And have you breakfasted and dined 

With strangers constantly, 

Yet tried to lact as if you're blind 

To all their gayety, 

Because you know 'tis not polite 

To push your presence in 

Their merry company — nor right 

To sacrifice a grin? 

And have you tramped the city street 

With no one at your side, 

Though meeting many, none you'd greet. 

And felt you'd like to hide 

Yourself behind some far-off star 

Or trapse the Milky Way, 

Full sure the Heav'ns more friendly are 

Than Earth's strange folks at play? 

A gypsy's life is not all song — 
For love dwells near the hearth; 
TTiere comes a time when he will long 
To house his heart in mirth. 
And then no more its deep recess 
Will feel the bitter pain 
Of everlasting lonesomeness 
That drives you 'most insane. 

THE CYNIC 

Whenas in accents fine I hear him rave 
About the color of her eyes, her mouth, 

her hair, 
How simple are the clothes he sees her 

wear, 



92 MISCELLANEOUS MOODS 

How for her smallest wish he'd even brave 
The terrors of the wood, the wild sea's 

wave, 
And e'en temptations 'neath the city's 

glare — 
I lift my voice and say, **My friend, be- 
ware. 
For she has chained thee like a galley 

slave ; 
Her smile is like an angel's from above, 
And yet she twists thee 'round her little 

hand 
Then turns her back and laughs at thee 

and jeers; 
You soon forget that mystic thing called 

love. 
Forget the heaven, you for her had plan- 

»ned — 
And drown your disappointment in your 

tears.'' 

TO A CALIFORNIA POPPY THAT 
SMILES ON OUR DESK 

Ah, frail silken flower, 
My homage is due 
To the orange-tinted dreams 
I might fathom in you. 

You open your soul 
In the morn, as a child 
Opens its eyes when 
The sunbeams run wild. 



I 



MISCB1LLANE0US MOODS 93 



And you smile all the day 
While the sunshine is bright, 
Then close your silk portals 
Against the dark night. 

And that soul, 

Which those portals of silken thus 

hide, 
It is afraid 

Of the goblins that ride 
On the wings of the night 
When the day goes to sleep, 
And the terrors of darkness 
Around them might creep? 

God walks abroad 
In the light of the day, 
Breathing love to his flowers 
And children at play. 

The night brings us Darkness, 
Whose dampened, chill breath 
Engenders wierd dreams. 
Sad doubts, fear of death. 

And He Who breathed in you 
Life's sweetened perfume 
Is the God Who would save you 
From the darkness and doom. 

I would that my soul. 
When Life's long day is done 
And away to the west 
Fades the light of the sun. 



94 MISCEIX.ANEOUS MOODS 



Could close its frail portals 
And dream of a light 
That illumines the path 
In Eternity's night. 



MOODS. 

(Listening to the orchestra play '*Home 
Sweet Home.'') 

I. 

A phantom rises on 

The midnight air, 

And haunts me as a 

Ghost of other days; 

And Mem'ry stands the while 

As if to stare 

Beyond the veil 

The music seems to raise. 



I knew a harbor once 
That I called home, 
Ere gypsy wand'rings 
Led my soul astray — 



But now, while o'er 

Tlie darkened paths I roam, 

No restful harbor 

Ends my tired day. 



MISCELLANEOUS MOODS 95 



II. 

The dancing ends, the music dies, 

1 he gypsy hits the trail ; 

The lonely wanderer lifts his scornful eye« 

Unto the skies like women when they wail. 

A mockery is that melody to him, 
He stifles in his heart a hopeless sigh; 
And ''Home," says he — lost in a tragic 

.whim — 
'*Ah, that's the place where men return to 

die." 

III. 

I hear, I think, an old familiar strain — 
A strange, elusive, haunting melody — 
I stand awhile and wonder; and again 
My mother sings her good-night songs to 
me. 

IV. 

I walk into the vastness of the night — 
A gypsy lost upon a restless sea 
Of never ending lonesomeness; no light 
In homes along the way are lit for me. 

And yet around me stand the giant trees, 
A roof of star-flecked blue hangs o'er 

above ; 
And then I tell myself : **I have all these — 
The world's my home, my dreams, my 

hopes, my love." 



96 MISCEIJL.ANEOUS MOODS 

V. 

To some a home is but a place to sleep, 
A shelter from the piercing eyes of night ; 
And others find therein a place to weep — 
To some it is a heaven of delight. 

And which of these shall miss that mystic 
place 

When wind or storm or Time shall wreck 
its walls? 

Methinks the one who sat with tear-drench- 
ed face 

Will suffer most when such a thing befalls. 

The silent sorrows which the world ne'er 

knows, 
And those deep sighs the passerby ne'er 

hears, 
Have made the home a place where real 

love glows — 
'Tis christened with a mother's pearly tears 



VI. 



And those who wialtz the while the music 
plays 

That love song of the home, are they aware 

How seldom in their hearts do they ap- 
praise 

The meaning of the song, now dying on 
the air? 



I 



MISCELLANEOUS MOODS 97 

VII. 

'Tis thus the whole world over-' 
And when the Music's done, 
This man is e'er a rover, 
And that a home has won. 

VIII. 

Who follows long the gypsy light, 
From Samarcand to Rome, 
Is stirred the most when through the night 
He hears that song of home. 

IX. 

Life's dance is done ; the music dies, 
The dancers all have passt; 
TTie soul sails out to God's blue skies — 
Its "Home, Sweet Home" at last. 

AT THE FEET OF KINGS 

To strike the classic Lute, in tune 
With songs the Fairies sing; 

To lose one's soul beneath the Moon — 
This is to be a King. 

But discords from my ill-tuned Lute 
Doth shame that instrument 

Whence melody sublime found root 
^When Sappho singing went. 

The Fairies' Kingdom fears my lay, 

No dreamy tale it tells ; 
And in their merry court I play 

The Fool with Cap and Bells. 



98 MISCEa:^LANEOUS MOODS 



A PRO-BRITISH KITTEN 

We have a little office cat 

That frisks about quite merrily, 

Jumping- up at this and that 
In manner rather airily. 

Folks like our little kitten, 

And her antics somewhat fistic ; 

In fact, they're rather smitten 
With her outlook optimistic. 

But the kitten's lost her drag, for 
She has spoiled our sense of humor; 

And we feel we'd like to gag her 
And secure a saner roomer. 



We had some shamrocks, potted — 
Which H. Kneeshaw had presented- 

With green leaves they were dotted, 
And our Irish was contented. 

But the pesky, playful kitten. 
In her manner rather skittish. 

Ate them all — she must be smitten 
With a temperament that's British. 

Which makes us rather wonder 
If we should forsooth demand a — 

Nexplanation where in thunder 
3he had read wrong propaganda. 



MISCELLANEOUS MOODS 99 

For if cats, which should be Feiners, 
Have so lost their sense of reason 

As to fail to be abstainers 

From our shamrocks when in season, 

We're as hopeless as the sinner 
iWho from Hiades cannot flee — 

And old Ireland ne'er will vdn her 
Age long fight for liberty. 

OLD CLOTHES 

In gaudy gowns of shimmering silk 
Milady, as becomes her ilk, 
Along the highway proudly strides, 
Nor cares she much what Fate betides. 

With queenly grace she wears her'gowns, 
Nor cares a whit for others' frowns 
Who cannot with such gay array 
Add lustre to the light of day. 

And yet ere sets the evening sun 
The shimmering sheen of gowns is done ; 
And queenly silks resolve to rags, 
And fill the junkm.an's dirty bags. 

So eyes that once shown free and gay 
Along the Eoad of Yesterday, 
Like sheenless silks soon lose their light, 
And fade into an .endless night. 



100 MISCEHJ^ANEOUS MOODS 

For Youth is but a silken stole 
That hides the mortal part of soul ; 
It fades with wear; is, soon or Late, 
Bought by the Ragman or our Fate. 

So let us, as Milady throws 

Her worn-out silks with cast-off clothes, 

Sigh, as Youth aside we cast : 

'*I wore thee well; thy charm is past/' 



THE AWAKENING HOUR. 

I built me a gorgeous mansion, 

Atop of a sun-kissed hill; 
And I draped its windows with flowers, 

And joy did its wide halls fill. 

And I thought me how nice, when I'm 
/tired 

Of jostling the mad rush of men, 
rd rest in my mountain mansion — 

With naught but my dreams and my pen 

But once, in a cold, gray morning, 
When clouds covered up the sky. 

My mansion crumbled to pieces — 
And all of its joy seemed to die. 

But I should have known it would end 
thus — 

Life is a nightmare, it seems — 
And now I am lonesome and homeless — 

My mansion was built upon dreams. 



MISCEL.LANEOUS MOODS 101 



MY COMPANIONS OF THE NIGHT. 

Along comes Night, and with him brings 
That little respite known as sleep; 

Forgotten are all wordly things, 

Whereat men curse and women weep. 

And dreams fantastic enter in. 
And some are wierd and strange; 

Some are hellish, some like sin, 
For wide is dream-life's range. 

And yet, I love them all; the good, 

/Indifferent ones or bad ; 
Because I know they're dreams, nor would 

I let them make me sad. 

And when each dream with all its millioQ 
thrills 
And things that are not real, but only 
seem. 
Is ended, up Night's wild and wondrous 
hills 
I climb again — and dream another 
dream. 



MAN AND HIS FUTURE. 

Eons agone when life was new, 

And men were wild and strange. 

When loves and dreams and songs were 

few. 
Slow moved the chain of change, 



102 MISCELLANEOUS MOODS 

God breathed into a man His soul, 
'Round which a hope did cling 
That as the passing ages roll 
'Twould be a noble thing. 

And in a million tearful years 

This handiwork of God . 

Kills and lies and steals and fears, 

Bends closer to the clod. 

Which makes us wonder if we'll be, 

Another million years, 

More like God, or will we see 

The same old world of tears. 



TRANSCIENT MOODS. 

I. 

Music has many uses: 
Gives us dreams. 
Of loves to be won. 
Memories of 
Loves that are dead. 

Music also 

Jazzes men to the madhouse. 

II. 

Some women wear their hair 
As a snarled oak its branches. 
But the oak is not supposed 
To have any brains. 



MISCELLANEOUS MOODS 103 



III. 

They call it 
^^Modern Fiction," 
Because it's written 
Today and dies tomorrow; 
It has no future. 

IV. 

She said she was always 

Above the clouds; 

I looked into her eyes 

And felt she was 

A star snatched from Heaven. 

For stars often fall 

From their orbits 

And get mixed up 

With lesser satellites ; 

That's how I met her. 

V. 

The things we crave most 
Arc always out of our reach ; 
No astronomer ever corralled a star ; 
We are all astronomers, 
Reaching out for the unattainable. 

The world is wide, 
And days are long; 
But time and distance 
Fade in song. 



104 MISCBLI.ANEOUS MOODS 

And into space, 
At sunset time. 
My soul goes forth 
In song and rhyme. 

O'er prairies wide. 
And hills and lakes. 
The song its fleeting 
Journey takes. 

It strikes an answering 

Melody, 

And then returns, 

Resung, to me. 

For every song 
That sails the air 
Finds its mate 
Sometime, somewhere. 

VII. 

People who don't believe in fairies, 
Are usually the people 
Whose ships never come in. 

The golden Ship of Hope 

Is piloted 

By a Fairy captain 

Whose compass points to 

The Harbor of Dreams Worth While. 

And we all may 

Become his passengers. 





























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